Darkest Hour (Cutler 5)

I went to my vanity table, brushed out my hair and tied a pink ribbon in it. I put on a bright blue dress and waited patiently, sitting by the windows and looking out at the soft blue sky, imagining what the various puffs of clouds resembled. One looked like a camel because of the rise in the middle and one looked like a turtle. It was a game Niles and I played at the pond. He would say, "I see a boat," and I would have to point to the cloud. I bet he's sitting at his window and doing the same thing right now, I thought. I just bet he is. That was the way we were—always thinking and feeling the same things at the same time. We were meant to be lovers.

When Papa came home, his steps on the stairway were so heavy and hard, his pounding boots reverberated down the corridor. They seemed to shake the very foundation of the plantation house and echo through all the walls. It was as though a giant was coming home, the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk. Papa opened my door slowly. Filling the doorway with his wide shoulders, he stood there silently gazing in at me. His face was crimson, his eyes wide.

"Hello, Papa," I said and smiled. "It's pretty outside today, isn't it? Did you have a successful business trip?"

"What have you done?" he asked, his voice throaty. "What new terrible shame and humiliation have you brought to the house of Booth?"

"I didn't disobey you, Papa. I stayed in my room last night just as you ordered and I'm very sorry for the pain I brought to you. Can't you forgive me now? Please?"

He grimaced as if he had just put a rotten pecan in his mouth.

"Forgive you? I don't have the power to forgive you. The minister doesn't even have that power. Only God can forgive you and I'm sure He has His reasons to hesitate. I feel sorry for your soul. It's bound for hell for sure," he said, and shook his head.

"Oh no, Papa. I'm saying the prayers Emily gave me to say. Look, Papa," I said, and rose to get the sheet of paper on which was the Psalm. I held it out for him to see, but Papa didn't look at it or take it. Instead, he continued to glare, shaking his head more emphatically.

"You're not going to do anything else to bring shame on this family. You were a burden for me from the very beginning, but I took you in because you were an orphan. Now look at the thanks I get. Instead of blessings raining down on us, we have curses and more curses. Emily's right about you. You're a Jonah and a Jezebel." He pulled himself up into a firm position and lay his sentence on me like a judge from the Bible.

"From this day forward until I say otherwise, you are not to leave The Meadows. Your schooling's over. You will spend your time in prayer and meditation and I will personally see to your acts of contrition. Now answer me straightforward," he boomed. "Did you let that boy get to know you in a Biblical sense?"

"What boy, Papa?"

"That Thompson boy. Did you copulate with him? Did he take your innocence in that bed last night?" he asked, pointing toward my pillow and blanket.

"Oh no, Papa. Niles respects me. We just danced, really."

"Danced?" Confusion washed across his eyes. "What in tarnation are you talking about, girl?" He stepped closer, his eyes scanning me critically. I held my soft smile. "What's wrong with you, Lillian? Don't you know what terrible thing you did and what terrible thing happened? How can you stand there with that silly grin on your face?"

"I'm sorry, Papa," I said. "I can't help but be happy. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Not for the Thompsons it isn't. This is the darkest day of William Thompson's life, the day he lost his only son, and I know what it feels like not having a son to inherit your family name and your land. Now wipe that smile off your face," Papa ordered, but I couldn't do it. He stepped forward and slapped me so hard my head went to my shoulder, but my smile didn't fade. "Stop it!" he said. He slapped me again, this time sending me to the floor. It hurt, stung and ached. My eyes spun and I was dizzy, but I looked up at him, still smiling.

"It's too nice a day to be unhappy, Papa. Can't I go out, please? I want to take a nice walk and listen to the birds and see the sky and the trees. I'll be good. I promise."

"Don't you hear what I'm saying?" he roared, standing over me. "Don't you know what you did when you let that boy climb up here?" He straightened out his arm and pointed to the window. "He climbed out that window and fell all the way to his death. His neck's broke. That boy's dead. He's dead, Lillian! God's teeth," Papa declared. "Don't tell me you're going to become as loony as Georgia now. I won't have it!"

He reached down and seized me by my hair, lifting me to my feet. The pain made me scream. Then he marched me to the window.

"Look out there," he said, pressing my face to the pane. "Go on, look out. Who was there last night? Who? Talk. Tell me right now or so help me, Lillian, I'll strip you naked and whip you until you either die or tell me. Who?"

He held my head so I couldn't look away and for a moment I saw Niles's face gazing in at me, his smile wide, his eyes impish.

"Niles," I said. "Niles was there."

"That's right and then he left and tried climbing down, only the pipe give way on him and he fell. You know what happened to him then, don't you? You saw the body, Lillian. Vera told me you did."

I shook my head. "No," I said.

"Yes, yes, yes," Papa pounded. "It's the Thompson boy who lay dead there all night until Charles found him in the morning. The Thompson boy. Say it, damn you to hell. Say it. Niles Thompson is dead. Say it."

My heart was a wild, frantic animal in my chest, thudding hard against my ribs, screaming and wanting to get out. I started to cry, silently at first, the tears just streaming down my cheeks. Then my shoulders shook and I felt my stomach folding in, my legs softening, but Papa held me firmly in his grip.

"Say it!" he screamed in my ear. "Who's dead? Who?"

The word came up slowly out of my throat like a cherry pit I had nearly swallowed and had to spit out.

"Niles," I muttered.

"Who?"